


Tiresias

by CharlemagneGryffis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Cassius Warrington is the Triwizard Champion, Crazy Dumbledore, F/F, F/M, Familiars, Gen, Goblin Town, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Harry Potter is basically split into two different people, House Elves, Kneazles, M/M, Magic, Manipulative Dumbledore, Misguided Dumbledore, Monsters, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Other, Politics, Transgender, Transgender Draco Malfoy, Triwizard Tournament, Well-Meaning Dumbledore, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding World, Wizengamot, and one of them is a demigod, and the other one is a politically learned teenager, blatant POI references in the first chapter btw, witch familiars, wix, wixen world, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8603260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: Lorie Potter has been kidnapped a few times in her lifetime. And by a few, she means nearly fifty. And when she says she gets kidnapped, what she isn't saying is that her kidnappers are actual, living, breathing monsters straight out of a world-mythology book.
Or,
Harry Potter was an amalgam of two very different people.





	1. Chapter 1

So, you obviously know the story of Harry Potter. Many people do. Knowing this story though, implies you know how Lord Voldemort was defeated – Harry Potter. It implies many things actually, including the fact that you’re aware of the elusive and hard-to-be-found Gods and Goddess’ of Ancient Greece. What you might not be aware of though, is how they aren’t _really_ supposed to exist in the same universe.

Oh they _could_ , because Harry Potter is canonically a giant idiot who can’t see something happening right in front of his eyes – but let’s just imagine, for a moment, that they weren’t.

Now.

Now imagine them _together_. Imagine demigods – children of Hecate having their own children, passing down the gift of magic that just won’t disappear from their bloodline, because magic itself is something above even the Gods themselves. Imagine wix that are demigods – being hunted down and killed by monsters that smell not only a delectable meal and foe, but also something _else_ , an entire vat of pure magic that would empower a hoard of monsters for centuries yet, and just the _idea_ is intoxicating to the gods-damned archetypes. Imagine them – imagine the demigods and the wix and the demigods-who-are-wix banding together, creating communities that could defeat these monsters that came for one of their own. Imagine that in a village of wix, a village of a hundred, two hundred, eight hundred – only one will be a demigod-who-is-wix, or four, or a hundred. They are either alone, or surrounded by those they would call sibling or cousin, or just _relative_.

Gods flock to Gods, after all.

Now imagine these communities, these hidden towns that wield magic and powers-from-Gods, and imagine them growing and growing, in both number and cleverness. Imagine them speeding past their mundane counterparts, to reaches untold, creating castes and hierarchies and _governments_. Imagine them, the wix and the demigods-who-are-wix, imagine them hiding away as the mundanes become jealous and hateful, slowly decreasing their presence until, all at once, they don’t exist. To mundanes, wix are a fae-tale, a story told in front of a fire about imaginary powers and imaginary magic and imaginary _gods_.

Imagine those mundanes growing in mind and body, believing wix are bedtime fables for centuries, and unwittingly pushing them farther and farther away, until only magicks specifically designed to keep them away, keep mundanes far, far from the sight and sound of wix, are able to safely keep wix-communities integrated into the places they call _home_.

Imagine that Hogwarts was only able to be hidden from mundanes because the thrice-great granddaughters and thrice-great grandsons of Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor were children of Hecate that had the insane, absolutely preposterous idea to _hide the valley in the Cairngorms that Hogwarts within stood from mundanes, forever_ , only for the powerful magic that which they used to do more than they anticipated. Imagine that the Gods are unable to find, unable to see through the magicks which previously before they could sense half a world away. Imagine that Hecate is quietly jealous of her children, and overly vindictive – imagine that the Gods believe they destroyed themselves.

Imagine that both mundanes and the Gods believe wix to be gone, and that they convince themselves they never existed.

(You don’t have to imagine – we’ve done the same thing in our own world. We’ve lost the true truth to Father Time – _we forget he existed too_.)

* * *

For the majority of her life, Lorelei “Call me Lorie” Potter had lived by three rules that she had made for herself as a child. Rule One: never form an opinion until you are properly – and fully – informed. Rule Two: always give everything at least two _insert-noun-here_ , because basing things off a singular experience was stupid, not to mention unfair. The number had changed over the years, but averaging prompted Lorie to do things in binary sets.

An example of that was swimming lessons. The first time she went to lessons with her school, she had a vaguely queasy stomach every time she ducked her head under the surface, and dreaded next week’s lesson. The second time, it only got worse, with the added benefit of literally being sick, and a pounding headache, and Lorie asked Petunia to write her a note, which Petunia did.

She never went swimming again.

Understandably, there were some things Lorie took longer to decide on, and couldn’t get out of even if she didn’t like it. An example of that was primary school – very quickly she showed herself to be very proficient and speedy when it came to school-work. It took a little while for her to convince her uncle to let her join Dudley’s primary school year, let alone an _older_ class – Vernon Dursley did not approve of it all, _girls_ being raised up in school, children being called _prodigies_ and _geniuses_. At the time, Lorie had been six, Dudley eight. Lorie would have gone from being primary one, to primary four, maybe even primary _five_.

It was a big thing, and it took until the winter holidays, when her report card came in, stating that the teacher had been asking for material from the primary seven class, for Vernon to finally grumble about _the bloody education system not telling you when your own little girl is a genius prodigy,_ and acquiescing, signing the attached forms along with Petunia, attending several meetings in and out of St Grogory’s Primary School.

Lorie’s final rule, Rule Three, was so: never talk about the monsters.

The monsters were always there, watching, waiting, _snatching_. More than once, little Lorie – too small to run, too weak to fight back – had been bundled into the back of a car and taken somewhere. She would cry and scream, and make as much noise as possible, scratching and hitting until either, a) they tied her up, b) they reached their destination, or c) the car flipped.

The fact that _every single time_ she was taken in a car, it flipped, did not go unnoticed.

Little Whinging had since gotten a larger police force, more security cameras, and both St Gregory’s and Privet Drive themselves required key-card access, the gates and roads respectively needing the officers on duty and residents to use their security passes to enter each. Lorie herself had a personal police officer assigned to her whenever she left either area without Vernon or a male teacher. Officer Staffox – and when Staffox wasn’t there, Officer Smith – stayed at a distance, and regularly practiced different defensive manoeuvres with her so she could escape different grips.

Sometimes they worked. Most times, they didn’t. Everyone thought it was because she was weak – and she was, just not _that_ weak. Lorie knew it was because they were monsters. But that was the rule – Rule Three. _Don’t talk about the monsters_. The one time she did, Lorie got assigned a psychologist for two years. At first, when talking to them, she told them all of what she never usually mentioned in the post-escape interrogation with the police-officers. She told them about the one-legged, the one-eyed, the winged, how they whispered about the Great Game to get her across the magical barrier around the wretched town – and then Lorie realised they thought she had PTSD and was imagining things.

Lorie wasn’t imagining things. She’d managed to free herself by slicing into a wing-tendon once, taking advantage of the woman’s screaming to both get out and attract the attention of someone who could take her to the police. It had been pretty easy, though next time a winged person grabbed her, they glared at her murderously before stiffly turning their backs to show the guard over the naturally unprotected region.

However, one good thing had come out of telling someone about the monsters – her Aunt Petunia finally told her the truth about her mother. Who was a witch. Who could use magic. Who was murdered by a dark wizard by the name of Voldemort the day before Petunia found Lorie on her doorstep with a letter that she gave Lorie to read, having kept it all these years.

Inside, it explained the precarious situation that Lily and her father, James, had been in. Voldemort had wanted to kill them, or more specifically, her brother David. Lily had David when she was nineteen – barely, according to Aunt Petunia – on August first, nineteen seventy-nine, and it was only a couple of months after his birth that they got word that Voldemort was looking for them, to kill David, as he was prophesied to defeat him.

Which he did.

But the Potter’s were in hiding for a long time before Voldemort found them, scared for the life of their son, and in that time – not that most knew – they had Lorie. The letter-writer stated it had been much the surprise to find out she even existed, when Voldemort’s attack was discovered, though close family friends stated they knew either of her, or simply _her_ , having spent time with her as a baby.

Voldemort’s attack itself took place on the Halloween of nineteen eighty-three. David was four years old but already very, very brave, Lorie only having turned two that past July. When Lily and James were both dead, Voldemort faced David, who somehow vanquished the evil man, leaving himself on the verge of death. Only the most experienced of St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies’ healers understood his condition and were able to treat him, placing him in an enchanted sleep so his magic could recover from the fatal blow – his magical core had been cracked, the amount of magic used to do whatever had been done to the dark wizard too much for a still-developing core.

Having always thought David had been dead alongside her parents, Lorie was more upset over the fact that the letter told them that David was in a coma, rather than the fact that she hadn’t been told this all from the start. She didn’t speak to Petunia directly for _weeks_ – and even wrote to this ‘Albus Dumbledore’, trying to find out more information. In the three years since she sent it, Lorie hadn’t received a reply.

Until today.

“Girl, what’s taking so long? Looking for letter-bombs?” Uncle Vernon laughed at his own joke, Lorie cringing slightly. Her uncle thought himself funny.

Tucking the letter in her hoodie’s kangaroo pocket, Lorie scooped the rest of the post up, running back into the kitchen to set it down beside Uncle Vernon’s newspaper, joining Dudley at the table. He looked up at the sight of her, pushing her plate from one side of the table to the other.

“Thanks,” she said, thoughts on the parchment burning against her stomach. Digging into the cooked breakfast, Lorie used her right hand to steal Uncle Vernon’s newspaper, scanning the pages at lightning speed as he looked through the post. Once Vernon realised what she’d done, he tugged it back, placing it out of her reach, chuckling.

“Little tyke, there’s nothing in there for you to see – take one of Pet’s magazines.”

Lorie grumbled, before instead reaching for Dudley’s comic. Deftly, without looking up, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t even think about it, midget.”

“Let go,” Lorie whined, trying to tug it away and failing as Dudley kept eating, eyes glued to the laminate paper. Glaring at him, Lorie concentrated, looking to her hand. A few seconds later Dudley yelped, tumbling sideways off his chair as he pulled away his hand sharply, dropping her wrist. Triumphant, Lorie finished her breakfast quickly, skipping out of the room just as Petunia called out her name in anger.

Running up to her room, Lorie snickered, before leaning against the sticker-coated door, locking herself in with the newly screwed-in bolt – she’d paid for it with her own money that she’d gotten for cutting the neighbours’ grass. She’d get an earful when she went down – she wasn’t supposed to use magic, let alone on _Dudley_ , despite how she apparently didn’t have enough to attend Hogwarts anyway – but right now? Lorie had a letter to open.

Going to sit at her desk, Lorie took out the envelope from her pocket, sitting down and peering at it. _Miss Lorelei Sophie Potter, Lorie’s Bedroom, Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._ No postcode. Lorie frowned. _Why doesn’t it have a postcode?_ Hand reaching out blindly, she opened her desk-drawer, taking out the original letter from Dumbledore. Looking between it and the new letter, Lorie’s confidence wavered.

It wasn’t the same handwriting.

But… _it couldn’t be her Hogwarts letter._ She wasn’t even eleven! She was turning thirteen in, quite literally, a week. They were going to Blackpool tomorrow for it, plus an early celebration for Lorie getting her GSCE’s, which they all _knew_ she’d passed – she studied university material for _fun_. Dudley would be getting his newest order for this years’ Smelting’s uniform in the post, but her exam results would come later, after they got home. Dudley’s uniform had changed, apparently, though it would likely be the same uniform, only a different stitch – Petunia had complained loudly, but still filled in the forms. Lorie thought she’d seen a message from the post office between the pile of bills and taxes and _this_.

Placing Dumbledore’s letter down, Lorie turned it over, swallowing at the sight of the purple wax seal. Cracking it, the young girl slid the envelope open, taking out the thick sheaf of parchment, unfolding it and staring at the thick, looping, imposing calligraphy.

**_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_ **

“No, no, this isn’t right…” Lorie read the rest of the letter, wondering if it was all handwritten – because unless the school’s entry-age had increased, or they were making a terrible, absolutely _horrendous_ joke, she should have gotten this _years_ ago.

Lorie looked to the mirror in front of her, staring at herself. _I’d be with eleven year olds._ She might be small, but she couldn’t pass for being _that_ young – she wasn’t like her mother had been in her pictures, ageless and unidentifiable, unless you compared her ten year-old self to her sixteen. Lorie was all sharp cheeks and olive skin and maturity, surrounded by a halo of silken black curls that were always coming out of her ballerina bun. _I can’t pass as an eleven year old_. It might only be two years, but it looked like four, sometimes.

Head tipping back down, she shuffled through the parchment. Ms Thomsonicle-Pocus hadn’t written out a very concise list of things to bring – it seemed more like school requirements rather than an actual checklist. It didn’t even include pyjamas, or normal clothes. _It’s a boarding school, too – it should have more than this. Maybe I should write to a teacher, to see if they can come explain life in Hogwarts_ , Lorie thought before realising that she’d actually have to get these somehow.

She’d have to tell her aunt and uncle she was a witch.

Immediately, Lorie stuffed the letter and envelope into her drawer again, hiding it beneath her old jotters from primary, filled with poems and both artful and _correct_ mathematics. They couldn’t find out. She’d have to write a letter to Hogwarts, explaining that she couldn’t go – and what about her muggle education? She was planning to take her A-Levels this coming year, provided her GSCE’S were marked appropriately. Vernon was already boasting to the neighbours that she was going to go to Cambridge. Going to Hogwarts…it was impossible. No. She couldn’t go.

Lorie bit her lip.

The truth was this: _she did want to go to Hogwarts_. But a second truth was this: _she_ _did actually want to go to Cambridge_.

“Maybe I can do both?” She whispered, wondering who she was asking. The Lorie’s eyes caught her calendar, eyes going wide. “Shit! AUNT PETUNIA! BALLET STARTS EARLY TODAY! I HAVE LESS THAN AN HOUR!”

“ _WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY EARLIER? GET YOUR THINGS! VERNON WILL TAKE YOU!_ ”

Lorie, who had already rocketed to her feet, packing her bag quickly, rolled her eyes. “DON’T YOU THINK I’M ALREADY DOING THAT, YOU MADWOMAN?! TELL UNCLE VERNON I’LL BE DOWN IN TEN MINUTES – I NEED A SHOWER!”

“ _BE QUICK!_ ”

“YES AUNT PETUNIA!”

The letter in the drawer sat forgotten – for now.

* * *

“-so, _Monica_ , you can walk away now-”

“My name’s Maven!” Monica glared down at her. Lorie ignored her, simply staring venomously and continuing.

“-and go fuck your boyfriend, or you can bloody damn well _do your part_ for this performance. This is the last one you’re in, before you leave to go up North, with or without Ernest-”

“His name is Ernie!”

“-who, by the way, won’t be going with you, because he still goes to fucking _boarding school in Scotland_ – and his name _is_ Ernest, actually, I stole his wallet at one point – and is a fucking _minor_ , unlike you, who is what, eighteen?”

Monica clenched her jaw, “I’m turning seventeen in a month.”

Lorie rolled her eyes, “And Macmillan’s something like fourteen. I don’t _care_. What I do care about is your dedication to our performance, and you’re slacking. Now either get your arse in gear, or tell us you’re leaving by tomorrow evening. I’ve had Sharon learning your part-”

“My name is Shannon,” said girl chided from beside Monica on the floor, wiping down her pointe slippers.

“-and she can do it. She’s dedicated. You aren’t, and if you are, we can’t see it.”

Monica huffed, “I am dedicated.”

“Prove it, then!” Lorie let off one last snap, before leaving, heading over to where her stuff sat, thrown over not one, but six chairs. Gathering it up, Lorie grumbled, wishing that practice had ended earlier, so she could use the shower there at the studio, below them in the basement changing area. Uncle Vernon would notice if she let an odd smell get into his fancy new Mercedes.

“Potter, over here when you’re packed up,” her instructor called. Lorie grimaced, wondering if she’d gone too far with Monica. Zipping up her bag, she swung it over her shoulder, padding over to the woman, fiddling with a stray strand of hair – or rather, a thick wad.

“Yes, Ms Morgan?”

Zoe zipped up her hoodie – black, with the studio logo on the back and breast-pocket, professional in comparison to Lorie’s bright, eighties Electro pullover. Though, she did have a thin, grey zip-hoodie over the top, so maybe that made up for it. She handed over a black scrunchie at the sight of her, causing Lorie to thanks her before pulling all her hair back, tying it up. Most likely, Zoe would find Lorie’s _actual_ hairband somewhere on the studio floor before she left that evening, or another ballet student would.

“I’m retiring after this performance. I thought you should know.”

Lorie’s mind went blank for a moment. “What?”

Zoe’s nails scraped over her stomach, “I’m having a baby. When my ex-husband decided he was going to work more hours for child-support, he got a promotion, and found a new partner – we’ve already made arrangements about it all. Everything’s. Harold was rather fortuitous in life, and John wants to be the best dad he can be…I’ll be moving in with him and Harold, in Westchester, living in a separate wing.”

“Westchester…like, America?”

“Yes. I’m moving a week after the performance. You’re my favourite little bird, Lorelei – I’ve made some calls, recommending and referring you to some other studios. I think you could settle in well with the Sam’s.”

“The Sam’s – Ms Groves and Ms Shaw, right?” Lorie was still stuck on the part where her teacher was leaving. Zoe nodded. “…Oh.”

“Come here.”

Lorie burrowed into her arms, feeling her eyes burn. “Good- good luck. In America.” Zoe pressed a kiss to her head.

“Thank-you, little bird. Do you have anything to tell me in return?” She joked, referring to their back and forth, from over the years – each told a detail about their life, and while Zoe had the best adventures to share from her lifetime, Lorie always had something to say.

Lorie, at this though, hesitated, reminding herself of the parchment in her drawer, the letter she had yet to bring up with her aunt and uncle.

“Lorelei?”

Lorie pulled away, taking her mentors hands and bending down, staring at her middle. “You be good for your mummy. She’s got so many stories to tell. All you have to do is ask.” She stood straight, squeezing. Zoe squeezed back. “I got invited to my parents’ private school, two years late. They have an entry-rate of eleven, and if I went, I’d be joining midgets. I want to take my A-Levels and go to Cambridge, and do ballet, and not disappoint my aunt and uncle-”

“Lorelei, you’re ranting at a very fast pace. Luckily, I can translate Lorie Potter. What would your parents want you to do?”

“The private school, definitely – it’s older than Cambridge by several hundred years, according to my mother’s history text-book. My dad’s family have been going there for centuries. It’s part of my heritage, a culture I’ve not joined or been allowed to join – Aunt Petunia never got a letter, not like my mother.”

Zoe nodded. “Take correspondence courses.”

Lorie grimaced, “I don’t think-”

“Let me rephrase: take your A-Levels through correspondence courses. You’ve never had trouble with work, and if you have trouble, a school that old will have a library that will help. And surely you’ll get some kind of discount for being part of such a family, going there for so long. What’s it called, again?”

Lorie’s lip twitched. “That’s classified.” Zoe hummed, before bringing her into a hug.

“Thank-you for talking to Maven earlier. I think she’ll drop out, too. And talk to your relatives, Lorelei – promise me?”

“I promise, Zo.” Lorie said quietly, before the hairs on her arms rose, a feeling in the back of her head warning her of an approaching danger. Unfortunately though, it was the familiar kind of danger. “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

“Bye, Lorie.”

Lorie gave Zoe a quick smile before running towards the exit, glancing at a clock – five, nearly ten minutes Uncle Vernon had been waiting. _He’s going to be **so** pissed._

“Girl!” Came his shout as she exited the building. Lorie grimaced, jumping the wall to the waiting car, opening the door and sliding in, noting that the police were absent today – why was that? “All the other girls left already – where were you?”

“My teacher is retiring,” Lorie revealed, “She recommends I transfer to the Sam’s Ballet Troupe.”

At that, Uncle Vernon snorted, driving off. “Bunch of lesbos. If Morgan’s retiring, that’s it. No more ballet. When’s she leaving?”

“After the performance,” Lorie swallowed, looking to her bag. “I have a couple more sessions over the next month, before we do our matinee dress-rehearsal on the second Saturday of August, and then the opening night afterwards.”

Uncle Vernon grunted, “We’re going to Blackpool. You aren’t staying behind.”

“I know, I know – it’s all been arranged.” Lorie said in a whisper, before silence took up the rest of the car journey. Relatively soon though, they reached Privet Drive, and it was to Lorie’s utter confusion that the security gate had disappeared. “Where’s the gate?”

“What gate?” Uncle Vernon gave her a strange look. “Are you high? Is that why you’re late?”

“What? No!” Lorie stared at him, and that was when she finally noticed the red film over his eyes. “What the hell – who are you?”

Not-Vernon glanced at her, before his mouth opened and an unfamiliar voice escaped. “Strange, they say you know immediately.” Lorie’s arm whipped out, nails going to scratch his face, only for her limbs to snap to the sides of her body, seatbelt pulling her back against the seat. Not-Vernon then started emitting a disgusting presence, her magic and instincts _screaming_ at her like they always did when she was being kidnapped.

“I was quite interested in this ‘game’ once I discovered it, but I waited,” Not-Vernon started, sounding whimsical. Lorie snarled, going to shout at it, but something stopped her. “I wanted to see how you reacted – how the mortals reacted. It was enlightening to know that such a proud, English, middle-upper class family set in their ways would refuse witness protection, especially seeing as you have been kidnapped multiple times.”

Lorie shut her eyes, gritting her teeth. _For fucks sake, why is it monologuing? Not that it’s not interesting and informative…_ Lorie took a breath, focusing on its voice. _Rule One: don’t form an opinion until you are properly and fully informed_.

“So I planned, I watched, I adjusted my plans, and then I executed them – your family, not the plan,” it paused, causing Lorie to let out a startled, silent gasp of shock, eyes flying wide open. “Well, the plan too, but your family as well.”

_It killed the Dursley’s. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley…_

“You killed them?” Somehow, she broke through whatever stopped her from talking, a migraine immediately pounding through her forehead. Immediately, the car pulled over – not helping her migraine – swerving, the windows shimmering briefly – showing a high-way, and beeping cars and trucks and lorries – before Little Whinging returned. The monster turned to her as it stopped.

“Oh, _this_ is why my fellows couldn’t complete the game – every time we counter you, something new appears.” It looked fascinated. Or rather, Not-Vernon looked satisfied, face pinky-red as it always went when his blood-pressure rose. “Do you even know what the game is, demigod?”

_Demigod?_ “No,” Lorie choked out, squeezing her eyes shut as her migraine became more like a sharp knife in her brain. “What- what’s the game?”

“The _game_ is to get you out of the Dead Zone. Not even the Gods have power here, and we monsters tracked that to _you_. And once we _found_ you…you are a well of power, a delectable treat. Demigod, blessed of _Ningirama_ – though you may better know her as Trivia, or perhaps Hecate.”

“The Gods aren’t real,” Lorie argued. “Magic is as magic is. I’m a witch, no more.”

The monster looked surprised, “An unaware demigod?” It sniffed deeply, eyes immediately glazing. “Oh, oh, _oh…_ ” Not-Vernon shivered in a disturbing way, leaning towards her. “So strong, so _powerful_ …”

It came close – too close. Lorie focused on her magic, face pained as she violently struck her head against it’s, magic empowering the blow so much that Not-Vernon was blown out of the car, door collapsing as Not-Vernon went flying. Instantly, the rest of her invisible restraints were lifted, and Lorie got out of the car, grabbing her bag as almost an after-thought, and Vernon’s wallet too randomly, waiting neatly in the glove compartment alongside several CD’s that Lorie _knew_ Petunia despised-

Lorie’s heart panged. _Aunt Petunia’s dead._ She didn’t have any evidence, or proof, but somewhere in her chest, she knew it to be true. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t let herself cry, running off, up the tall grass side of the motorway, stumbling and clawing her way up the wet dirt, reaching the overpass before another truly coherent thought passed through her brain. _I need my things. I need to go back to Privet Drive._

“Where am I, though?” Lorie squinted around, trying to find a landmark or signpost – she found one quickly, right in front of her. Large, green, and full of words, Lorie quickly understood she was barely outside of Greater Whinging – but still unfortunately about four or five miles from Little Whinging. _If Dudley were here, he’d just nick a vehicle._ He’d told her enough stories about being stranded in London by his friends after they went out to get sloshed, in Smeltings, never mind that both were technically illegal.

A car approached, slowing, window rolling down. Mrs Polkiss’ head popped out. “Lorelei Potter? What are you doing out here? Where’s your supervisor?” Lorie couldn’t help but glance behind her, to the Mercedes – to where people now surrounded Vernon’s body. She looked back to Mrs Polkiss and stepped forwards, hands reaching to her head, grabbing it tightly.

“What- get your hands off of me!”

“ ** _Forget. Forget this meeting_**.” Lorie focussed her magic to her hands, trying to convey her desire. Mrs Polkiss’ cries died down, her eyes glazing over. Lorie swallowed, letting her go, staggering back, before running across the road, hiding behind a bush, watching Mrs Polkiss as she frowned, looking around in confusion before shaking her head, not looking worried in the slightest. Lorie waited for her to drive off before she straightened and looked around. _If I climb this hill, I can get to that car-park_. The hill wasn’t very steep, so she could see up to the top.

Getting started, Lorie wondered slightly numbly just exactly how the monster killed her relatives. _Uncle_ _Vernon_ …the monster must have been possessing his body. Lorie glanced back at the body, swallowing. _It’s not glowing anymore_. It was just a sack of flesh. The monster was gone. _Possession._ Maybe the monster pushed out of his Uncle Vernon out of his own body to make room, or…or maybe she killed him, and the monster just vacated the body left behind. It was a sickening thought.

_Aunt Petunia_ …her aunt was dead. Lorie was definitely sure of that. Her instincts didn’t pull her to check, or her magic. Nothing. Not even a slight whisper, or doubt. _I hope she’s somewhere better_. Her aunt had always been bitter. She’d loved Lorie like her own, but she’d been bitter – only Lorie’s apparent lack of Hogwarts letter had ever made that bitterness truly fade. After those weeks Lorie had ignored her, their relationship improved, repaired itself as Lorie and Petunia both vested an interest in each other.

_And Dudley_ …

Her instincts immediately jumped in favour of searching for him, searching for his body. At that, it was like a cascade – and doubts started to form, multiplying as she realised that _this was how she was thinking_.

She had to find Dudley.

Confidence renewed, Lorie held herself stronger, striding up the hill towards the carpark, hands coming to tip her hood up as she scanned the packed lot. There was a distinct lack of security cameras. _Did Greater Whinging not get the message?_ She mused darkly. _Monsters roam this land_.

Choosing a car was less difficult. Dudley liked sharing – it was something he and Lorie had in common. Lorie knew which cars had electronic alarms by the brand and labels on the windows, and which were less likely to attract attention in her neighbourhood. That narrowed the choices down significantly. She settled on a fancy-looking Prius, that at first glance seemed to be pretty expensive, but on second, was obviously inferior to the more expensive brands. A bonus was the lack of electronic alarm.

And the fact that the owner had left it unlocked.

Lorie let out a harsh laugh, before throwing her bag in the passenger seat, not needing to look behind her due to the car being a two-seater. Hotwiring the car wasn’t hard – honestly, they left _instructions_ on what not to touch, and _why_.

It was only later, when nearing Privet Drive, that she realised her problem – she couldn’t actually get into Privet Drive and out again without attracting some…attention. Luckily, she _did_ know the weaknesses to the police’s system. Perks of being the one they were protecting. Just, _implementing_ a plan was her main concern. And getting caught by anyone, really. Lorie was a very well-known figure, and she looked a lot different from most in Little Whinging, too.

“Could I change my appearance for if I got caught? No, if I did I’d be in _hell_ of a lot of trouble.” She spoke to herself to fill the silence, before stopping on Magnolia Crescent. Hood still up as she left, Lorie looked like any random teen – except for her tights, and compression shorts. _I could be identified by these…_ she thought idly as she waved to Mrs Figg without thinking, bending down as an approaching cat mewed.

Said approaching cat was very familiar to Lorie. Her name was Nimkee. Lorie liked to think they were friends. Sometimes, she even thought Nimkee understood her when she talked to her, when she sat in the park, or her aunt and uncle’s garden, Nimkee visiting.

“ _Mrow_ ,” Nimkee brushed her hand up against Lorie’s hand, which she rubbed across the black cat’s head, scratching behind her large ear before picking her up, kissing her, smiling as her plumed tail wrapped around her arm.

“Hello, babe. How are you?” Nimkee made a noise that Lorie interpreted as _I don’t care, I can tell there’s something wrong with you. Tell me._ “I’m in a bit of a pickle, actually. Uncle- Uncle Vernon and Aunt- Aunt Petunia are…they’re _dead_ , Nimkee-san.” Nimkee pushed her head against Lorie’s chin. “I need you to find Dudley for me. He’s alive, I know it – I’m going to get my stuff from my room. Espionage, dream profession. I can do it. But if Dudley’s not there, I won’t know where to start, let alone where to go.” Nimkee mewed again, Lorie translating it to _Put me down, I’ll find him, you be safe, ma cherie._

Lorie put her down, movement in Mrs Figg’s window prompting her to speed-walk away, keeping her eye out for neighbours. The streets were empty, per usual, though she could see life inside the houses – wives getting ready for dinner, husbands sitting in front of TV-sets, kids playing on the floor with toys a younger Lorie would have squealed over, teens like herself and Dudley lying across sofas with books and video-games and all-sorts.

Coming to the end of Magnolia crescent, Lorie was suddenly inspired by the sight of a garden. _I can sneak in through the back._ If she was quick, she might even be able to get back through before the guards came running to see who exactly snuck into the Dursley household – especially if she had been ‘kidnapped’ again. It was the only explanation Lorie could offer for explaining her disappearance and Uncle Vernon’s death on the motorway.

“I have to get away,” Lorie muttered, thinking of the Wizarding World. Non-magicals could think her dead, and it would solve a _lot_ of problems – including her monster problem. Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the United Kingdoms. _Except Gringotts_ , she remembered, all of a sudden. Her mother’s belongings, which Petunia had gifted her – the journal she kept before Hogwarts told of her journey to Diagon Alley, and to Gringotts, home of the Goblin Horde. _Could I request sanctuary?_ Lorie knew she could request it somewhere, she just had to be able to. A magical world _without_ a sanctuary wasn’t much of a world.

Quickly glancing around as she came to the opposite house from Privet Drive, that shared a fence and therefore made them neighbours, Lorie wandered into their garden, only to curse herself at the sight of Mr Findley doing his afternoon weeding. _Dammit._ She took a chance to peek into the kitchen window, wincing at the sight of Mrs Findley and her sister. _Great. Absolutely **great**._

How was she going to get to number four now?


	2. Chapter 2

Okay. Here’s a history lesson for you – don’t worry, it’s a short one, unlike my explanation of how the Wixen community was formed. And actually, unlike that story, you might know this one.

It was in Ancient Greece, as in, the _really_ Ancient Greece. Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, War and the Arts and Crafts, was washing in a bath, and she was walked in on by a man. As expected, she took great offense to this, but unlike, say, Artemis, she didn’t kill him. Instead, she lashed out and made him blind – and then, when the man apologised over and over, for he was a very good man at heart who had made a terrible mistake, Athena took pity on him and gave him the power to understand the birds, who would act as his guides, if he so chose.

So, that’s your history lesson. Now you get a flashback.

* * *

_ January, of 1983 – Glamorgan Estate, the Outer Forest _

_“-what you going to do about that, eh Prongs?” Sirius teased, punching James in the shoulder. James scowled._

_“Stop talking about Lily like that. You **know** she’ll find out.”_

_“Because you’ll tell her, and anyway, I think she should take it as a compliment. If you guys want another kid, and you can’t have one – and **I** can’t, for that matter, if you wanted a donor – then Remus would be the perfect choice. Lily and he get on like a house on fire – fellow prefects, fellow book-buddies, fellow weirdos with strange powers-”_

_“Oh, shut up, Padfoot,” James grumbled, before rubbing his hands together. “The hot-spring is just up here behind this ward.” The two approached, walking around the large, large oak tree, and past the wardline. Sirius grinned at the sight of the bubbling pool, whipping off his towel and running up to it._

_“Cannonball!” He jumped, curling up into a ball and landing, splashing everywhere. James snorted, going to join him – only for a feminine scream to cause him to freeze._

_“Get away! Get out – get **out!** ”_

_James’ eyes were drawn to the origin of the noise, as were Sirius’, and both men immediately turned, hands clapping over their eyes in unison, apologies tumbling from their lips as the dark-haired woman curled up into a nook in the hot-spring, Sirius stumbling through the bubbling water to the edge, climbing out blindly, James kicking over his towel._

_“We’re_ so _sorry,” James said, heartfelt and apologetic to the extreme. “We had absolutely no idea someone would be here…” he suddenly frowned, but didn’t turn around to look at her. “Wait a second,_ how _are you here? This is warded property. It belongs to the Glamorgan Estate,_ my _estate. You shouldn’t have been able to pass through the wards.”_

_“Wards?”_

_Both men felt dread. “Oh shit,” Sirius whispered. “Jamesy, she’s a muggle!”_

_“What is a ‘muggle’?”_

_James shook his head, “Sirius, I don’t think she’s a muggle – muggles would have walked in the opposite direction. The Glamorgan Estate has been hidden from non-magical eyes for over two and a half thousand years. She has to be magical, somehow. Or at least – what does Alice call it? Being…”_

_“Clear-sighted,” Sirius replied automatically. “She says I’m clear-sighted, because I saw the weird metal dragon she turned to dust.”_

_“Everyone keeps telling you, it wasn’t a dragon – it was a kite!” James rolled his eyes._

_“I highly doubt that, if this ‘Alice’ calls you clear-sighted,” the woman spoke, voice betraying confusion and anger. “She is a demigod, and you are…something else…”_

_Sirius and James would have glanced at each other, but they were still shutting their eyes so as to preserve the woman’s modesty. James cleared his throat._

_“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to give your name. I own this property, and you are trespassing.”_

_“Trespassing?”_

_Sirius nodded, “Yep, mademoiselle – James here owns the estate. It’s been in his family for three thousand years.”_

_“Two and a half thousand,” James corrected again._

_“Whatever, you know that they lied and said it was younger than Hogwarts.”_

_James, at that, blindly hit him on the arm. “Shh, that was in confidence, Heir Black.”_

_Sirius snorted, “‘Heir Black’? Come on, you_ know _I’m not the heir anymore.”_

_“Aunt Walburga can’t blast you off the family tree, and since your brother’s dead and all your cousins are girls, yeah, you’re still the Heir of House Black and the future Duke of Ravensmoor.” Sirius grumbled as James smirked, before the woman spoke again._

_“You talk of hierarchies that I believe are long-gone from this Earth. Ravensmoor. It is…very familiar, to me.”_

_“Really?” Sirius questioned, “So you_ are _one of us, then?”_

_“…I do believe we are one and the same, though your power seems different than mine.”_

_“Awesome, but can we wrap this up, please?” James questioned, “We just want to have a break. This…with everything going on, we wanted to just relax for once.” There was a tense silence, before they yelped as their towels transformed into swim-trunks._

_“You may turn around.”_

_The Marauders exchanged one look before turning, only to discover the woman sitting politely on the edge of the hot-spring, legs submerged all the way up to her shins, her body wrapped in a muggle swimsuit. Sirius clutched James’ wrist._

_“You’re too pretty to be real. Don’t steal either of us.” The woman gave him a stern look that reminded the men of Professor McGonagall, before motioning to the hot-spring. Sirius immediately let go of James, grinning._

_“Cannonball! Again!” He jumped straight in, splashing both with the water. James cussed at his best friend, before jumping in after him, rough-housing for a moment in the water before they calmed down, looking to the woman._

_“Joining us?” James asked, holding out his hand politely. The woman eyed it, before taking it slowly, using him as a steady weight as she dropped in again. “We missed proper introductions before – good evening, I am James Charlus, Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House Potter and Earl of Glamorgan. This is my cousin, Sirius Orion, future Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House Black and Duke of Ravensmoor. Would you share your name?”_

_The woman let go of his hand, sitting down on a nearby bench that had been installed by the Potter’s at some point in history._

_“I am Athena, of Olympus.”_

_“No last name?” Sirius questioned, settling down a few feet from her as James floated in the middle of the spring. “Also, you don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”_

_She gave him a brief glance. “I originate from Greece, though over the years my family have moved – wherever the peak of civilisation is, we shall be. Currently, however, we are in America.”_

_“The good ol’ US of A,” Sirius drawled, looking wistful, “Always wanted to visit. Hey, James, when it’s time for you, Lilith and Diablo to move about, can we all take a holiday? Like, we can bring Remus-”_

_“Obviously,” James stated drying, shaking his head at the nicknames._

_“-though Peter’s a bit hung up on looking after the old lady. Poor Mary, she didn’t look too good last time we visited, did she? Ah well, she can’t be worse than Remus. Did you hear about the last time he transformed with the pack? He set himself up as Alpha in Fenrir’s territory without even meaning to – nearly died of his injuries the next morning. He sent me a letter a week after.” Sirius grit his teeth, James grimacing at the thought of how angry Sirius would be at his partner when he finally returned – if he returned at all._

_“He sent me one too. Was yours perfectly clean too?” Sirius nodded, both knowing that meant it had something on it that Remus hadn’t wanted them to see – blood, most likely. The two brooded for a moment, before looking to Athena, who looked positively flabbergasted._

_“How do you not get in trouble for this?”_

_James shrugged, “You-Know-Who’s after us. Sirius here, he’s my only contact to the outside world – my wife, son and I haven’t seen anyone since we went into hiding except Sirius. It gets lonely – we’re lucky we get letters at all. Sirius is amazing about getting them to us, and dealing with the dangerous packages people try to send our way. But even then…” James sighed. “Let’s just say, you’d be the only one able to tell anyone that we willingly talk to a werewolf.” At that, Athena seemed confused, before her eyes narrowed._

_“A question: you say only I know of this. So, when I go, will you disappear? Will you still be here if I decided to return?”_

_James didn’t like the look in her eyes. It reminded him too much of Dumbledore – scheming, potentially even manipulative. Bobbing in the water, James decided to float backwards, to another bench, nodding. Sirius started up a conversation with the woman, James only occasionally adding to his tall stories about the things they’d done, or witnessed. Athena, he noted, liked the stories about David – seeming even more impressed with Sirius and James as the former boasted about the things David had done with his magic, fondly calling him his little devil._

_“He’s **my** son, remember,” James chuckled._

_Sirius scoffed, “He’s my son too. Lovely Lily doesn’t know what hit her – he’ll grow up to be just like us.”_

_“Let’s hope Lily and Remus rub off on him,” James smirked fondly, “Remember just who got us out of trouble with Minnie, Padfoot.”_

_Sirius paused, before nodding, “Yeah, just like us, but with Lily and Remus’ tendency to be elected to watch over newbies, with the power of a teacher. He’ll get in so much trouble, and no-one will know – we’ll teach him that we have to pry everything from him.”_

_James nodded firmly, looking at his brother in all but blood with determination. “And that he has to keep his secrets even better than you do.” The **Secret-Keeper** title Sirius donned went unsaid in front of strangers._

_Sirius’ eyes glinted, and both men though of Peter in that moment, and their plot, soon to be put in motion._

_“Aye. We’ll teach him.”_

_“That we will.”_

* * *

Those of you who can extrapolate from what you already know, adding what James noticed all those years ago, might have already guessed that Athena had a plan in motion. You have to remember – Athena is not human, and one of her domains of power is Battle Strategy. Transferring that knowledge to plain old _knowledge_ , plus misunderstood names and _nicknames_ …well.

Maybe the game would have been up if James hadn’t called Minerva McGonagall, ‘Minnie’ – if James had said he was in contact with Minerva, when _Minerva_ sat across from him.

As it was, Athena never had any reason to suspect that Sirius and James were anything other than similar beings of power – Gods, if you will. Sirius would have gotten a kick out of that, for sure, if the trio had ever properly explained themselves. But that didn’t happen. What _did_ happen was that Athena, James and Sirius spent an evening with the Goddess of Wisdom, somehow talking about everything, yet nothing, two sides having two different conversations that somehow didn’t fracture.

The result?

On February nineteenth, Lorelei, daughter of Athena, appeared on the doorstep of Glamorgan Estate.

* * *

Number four was quiet. The lights were off, not having been turned on once it got dark. Lorie presumed people would think they left for Blackpool early, until they heard about Uncle Vernon. Going up to her room showed, though, that not everything was as it seemed.

Firstly, there was Uncle Vernon’s and Aunt Petunia’s dead bodies on their bed.

Secondly, _there was Uncle Vernon’s and Aunt Petunia’s dead bodies on their bed!_

Lorie had nearly screamed, before remembering she had to stay quiet. She had to get her things and- and get Dudley. And get out of the area. This ‘Dead Zone’ – if it was the reason all the monsters had come after her, Lorie didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

She had to get her things, find Dudley, and find her way to Diagon Alley.

“Mum’s diary said it was on Charing Cross,” Lorie muttered hazily as she unzipped her suitcase for Blackpool, “Charing Cross is in London, and if I get to London it’ll be a lot easier to blend in, unless my face is blaring across billboards.” Uncle Vernon’s body couldn’t be in two places at once. His car was a different thing, but if his body was in number four, it couldn’t be on the motorway.

“Hopefully,” Lorie paused to take a breather. Her life was falling down around her. She was a witch. Zoe was leaving. Her aunt and uncle were _dead_. Dudley was missing. She had to pack up.

Standing up from the ground, Lorie collected things she knew she couldn’t be without – her letters, her favourite book, hairbands and scrunchies, sanitary products, cleaners for her pointe shoes, her _actual_ pointe shoes, old and new, the pocket-knife Dudley had entrusted her with, for her own protection. He’d taught her how to box too, a little, and defend herself a different way that Officer Staffox did. _I should get some things for him too._

Going to Dudley’s room was though, as per usual, a task. He didn’t clean his room, leaving things lying on the floor. Lorie held her nose the entire time, finding his Blackpool suitcase under his bed. She made sure to add a few other things to it as well – things like the extra-large pack of batteries he kept for his video-game consoles, and his secret stash of high-quality weed and flip-knives. The weed could get her a lot of money in London, if Dudley could be found. She didn’t run in those circles, despite her knowledge of them – Dudley’s gang knew to defend her, for example, and anyone in both Little and Greater Whinging would tell you not to pick on her, unless you wanted half the county teens on your arse.

 _Money, I need money_. Lorie went to her aunt and uncle’s room, avoiding the bodies as she went to their closet, searching through it, top to bottom. She hit gold inside a hat-box, and made a note to empty her savings account too, before she left for London.

Once back in her bedroom, Lorie swept through it, picking up any little things she felt certain nostalgia for, eventually having to go grab a large suitcase for her own things, before she faced the dilemma that was actually leaving, which presented its own problems.

“Getting two suitcases out of _this_ neighbourhood,” Lorie wondered, before hearing a familiar _meow_. Looking to her window, Lorie breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Nimkee, rushing over to open the glass and look at what she had in her mouth. Nimkee dropped it into her hands before jumping down, padding over to her waiting suitcases, sitting up on top primly. Lorie spared her a look before analysing the fabric.

The first thing she noticed was the blood-stain. Then she realised it was still warm. Lorie looked to Nimkee, holding it up.

“Where did you get this?”

“ _Mraow_ ,” _Use it to find him._

Lorie huffed, “It doesn’t work like that. I asked _you_ to find him.”

“ _Meow!” Magically find him!_

“But I don’t know _how_ , Nimkee – and this is warm! That means he’s somewhere nearby, right?” Nimkee then did the equivalent of rolling her eyes, jumping down behind the suitcases into the shadows. She didn’t come out. Lorie stepped forwards. “Nimkee?”

“ _Meow_.” Lorie spun around, going to the window. She gaped at the cat that now strolled out of the bushes.

“You’re a magic cat…oh my god, you’re a kneazle, you’re a _kneazle!_ ” Lorie rushed to her suitcase, unzipping the front pocket and taking out her mothers journal, flipping through the pages, quickly finding the page she wrote on her new ginger kneazle by the name of Robert. “ _The shop owners said that kneazles are very, VERY clever creatures, and that they have magical powers – they’re very mean to suspicious and distrustful people, and they can guide their owners home, too. The younger shop-keeper said that sometimes, they even have magic of their own, if they’re a pure kneazle and not a half-cat, or have cat ancestry._ ”

Nimkee meowed again, right in front of her. Lorie shut the diary slowly, staring at the cat – the _kneazle_ , because she was one, definitely.

“You always were not like the others at Mrs Figg’s,” Lorie stated, before putting the diary away. Nimkee meowed again, resting her chin against Lorie’s hand as she rested it on the suitcase, Dudley’s in contact with her shin. Abruptly, she remembered an incident when she was six, and Dudley’s friends were all on a visit to an aquarium, and nasty primary four boys had been chasing her.

She’d teleported home.

“How do I do it?” Lorie asked her friend, desperate to know. This could save so much _time_. But Nimkee shook her head, pressing her chin to her hand again. Suddenly all her thoughts were focused on _Dudley_. _Dudley, Dudley, Dudley, Dudley…_

Lorie only snapped out of it when she and the suitcases went tumbling down onto concrete.

“Oomph!” Lorie blinked away the haze of concentration, turning onto her butt and looking to Nimkee dazedly as the cat padded over, curling up on her lap. Lorie stared.

“Well, what you doing back ‘ere, lassie?” A voice caused her to jump, head snapping up in the direction of it. A man stood in a doorway, dirty apron wrapped around his waist, box in hand. “I saw you arrive – pretty powerful beast you got there. Triple-X classification though, if I remember correctly. The Ministry don’t like me having that kind of beast in my building.”

“The Ministry…” Lorie gathered Nimkee in her arms, swallowing as she stood shakily, feeling like all her energy had drained out of her. “That wouldn’t happen to be the Ministry of Magic, sir?”

“Aye, ‘tis.” The man bobbed his head, walking over and placing the box on a shelf just to her left. “I’m Old Tom – I run the Leaky.”

 _The Leaky Cauldron,_ Lorie’s eyes widened. “Could I get a room? I only have muggle money, but-”

He glanced at her, interrupting, “I usually employ my new sweep after the Hogwarts letters have come out, snatch up the squibs. New one every year. You get a room and board, provided you do some work for me, and if you quit, you pay a galleon for every month you didn’t fulfil in your yearly contract.” Lorie hesitated.

“What’s a squib?”

Tom squinted at her, “Are you a witch, or aren’t you?”

“I’m not a muggle,” Lorie gave him, slightly fearful, “I- I’m thirteen. I think someone’s playing a joke on me though – I don’t attend Hogwarts, or I didn’t, I don’t know. Just- look.” She juggled Nimkee in her arms, reaching to her suitcase, unzipping the pocket and pulling out the envelope from ‘Hogwarts’. “I _just_ got it this morning.”

Tom took it, flipping through the pieces of parchment. “You say you’re thirteen, eh? Odd, that. I’ll make you a deal – sweep floors till the twenty-seventh of August, and I’ll give you room and board, and let you use my owl to contact Professor McGonagall.” He lifted the letter, pointing at her, eyes stern. “But you be good. And don’t leave the Leaky without telling me where you’re going first. And tell the kneazle to pretend she’s a half-breed in front of company, for her own safety. Now, what’s your name? I didn’t read it off the letter.”

Lorie took the envelope back, tucking it away in her hoodie. “Lorie. Lorie Potter.”

Tom blinked. “Beg your pardon, miss? Lorie _Potter?_ As in, Lorelei Potter?”

Lorie flushed, “Uh, yeah.”

“Oh my, we must get you away – now, before Dumbledore finds out you’re here!” Tom took her wrist, a stick coming to his hand. He flicked it, causing her suitcases to fly up into the air, before Tom pulled her out of the store-room, suitcases following.

“What- where are we going? What’s wrong with Dumbledore?”

Tom motioned for her to be quiet, peering through a crack in the door. He grimaced. “Full bar. I can’t leave.” He turned to her, looking at her in a very serious manner. “Miss Lorelei, you must get to Gringotts. Your safety is at sake.”

“My safety?” Lorie didn’t understand – wasn’t this Dumbledore man _good?_ Aunt Petunia had hated him, but Lorie always thought she was biased.

Tom shook his head, “There is no time to explain. The long and short of it, lassie, is that Dumbledore hid you from all magical sight – no-one knew where you were, and even when Lord Potter ordered him as a vassal of House Potter to return you to him, Dumbledore refused. That man is on thin ice when it comes to you, Miss, but many are loyal to him. Gringotts is the _only_ place where you are safe, until the public is informed of your reappearance, and you are presented to your Lord.”

Lorie’s hackles rose at that, “My _Lord?_ What the hell does that mean?”

Tom shook his head, “Apologies, miss – I mean, until you are reunited with your _brother_.”

Lorie froze. “David.”

“Aye, miss, but now you must go to Gringotts.” He looked around, before grabbing a large green cloak and draping it over her shoulders, tying it around her neck. The fabric reached the floor, but after Tom waved his stick – _his wand?_ – it shortened. “Now, I’ll escort you to the wall and open up the alley – but I can’t go with you. Gringotts is at the very end of the alley – you can’t miss it.”

“Okay,” Lorie swallowed, before reaching up to untuck her hoodie’s actual hood from the cloak, brushing her loose bun. Unfortunately, with the events of the day since she last retied it, the scrunchies had loosened, and it came out, her hair falling around her face. The flash of fear on Tom’s face surprised Lorie – was there something wrong? “Tom?”

“Miss- Miss Lorelei,” he said in a hush, eyes wide, “I would recommend keeping your hair tied back. You…you resemble a- a supposedly distant relative of yours. A many-times cousin. It should be impossible…but people would be very scared should they see you like this.” He audibly gulped, breathing slightly ragged as he reached for his wand, tapping her head. Lorie let out a pained gasp as her hair was pulled back tighter than she’d ever had it before. _Is that a French braid?_ “My granddaughter says I put too much power into it, but she never complains about how long it takes to untie itself.”

Lorie ran a hand over the ridges and bumps of the braided hair, nodding. “Thank-you…so, Gringotts, you said?” She just had to make sure…

“It’s run by goblins. The Goblin Horde live beneath us, amongst the vaults holding our currency. It’s why we don’t contest a lot of things with them, nowadays at least. Follow me.” Tom took her hand again, leading her out of the door, from behind the bar to another door a few feet to its left. People called for Tom, for a firewhiskey, or mead, and Lorie thought it slightly medieval as she got her first proper look at this magical world.

They entered a small courtyard. Tom raised his wand to a wall, tapping certain bricks – Lorie purposefully memorised the pattern – and then stepping back as an archway formed. Lorie watched, enthralled, before Tom came down to her level, pointing to a far-off building lit with flaming torches, moonlight reflecting off the white marble.

“That is Gringotts. Enter, and say you seek Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde. Tell them who you are. They’ll protect you, Miss Lorelei.” He looked into her eyes, frowning only very slightly. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were Sirius Black’s daughter – not James Potter’s, though he’s certainly there in your face.” Lorie let him look a little longer before finally nodding and detaching her limbs from him, only just then noticing her suitcases still following her. Tom waved, before the archway shut, and Lorelei was left in the near-empty street.

Breathing in, trying to be more confident, Lorie walked towards the bank, wondering if the goblins would be able to find Dudley. She held Nimkee closer to her chest, the scrap of fabric the kneazle had brought to her crushed in her hand. _She must have found Dudley using the shadows_ , Lorie figured. She’d gotten distracted earlier – a usual occurrence – when trying to figure out how Nimkee had gotten the fabric.

Once she got to the steps of the large, tilting building, Lorie hesitated, glancing around. Was this really what she should do? What if ‘seeking Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde’ meant she’d be stuck with them for the rest of her life? Could she even trust Tom?

Her instincts scoffed at her for that last question.

 _No, Tom is good, he wouldn’t lead me astray, and mum mentioned the Horde before in her writing…_ Lorie went up the steps, walking through the doors, and then the second set. The room was lined with desks, which were filled by what could only be goblins. Approaching the nearest one, she opened her mouth to speak, only for it to boredly speak.

“Gringotts Bank is not open in the hours after six pm, except on Thursday, when it is open to eight pm. Good evening.”

Lorie stood in silence for a few seconds longer, before speaking tentatively. “My name is Lorelei Potter. I seek Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde.” Immediately, the room was in chaos. A claxon sounded, and the two sets of doors slammed shut. Within thirty seconds, armed guards were surrounding her, spears creating a bubble. Her suitcases dropped to the ground, and the goblin that she had spoken to gaped at her, before seeming to gain some form of cognitive function, speaking again.

“Who dares claim Sanctuary from the Goblin Horde?”

“My name is Lorelei Potter,” she repeated, playing with her fingers, cracking them. “I was told to come here so Dumbledore-” the goblins began to hiss, shouting at her in a harsh, strange language. The goblin above her leaned forwards, glaring.

“We do not speak the names of criminals that run free rather than be imprisoned by order of the Crown.”

 _The Crown?_ “I was told to come here until everything was sorted out, so the…criminal, can’t get to me.”

“You said you were named Lorelei Potter. By this do you mean you are Lorelei Sophie, Lady Heiress of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, future Earl of Glamorgan?”

Lorie blinked rapidly, before remembering what Tom had said. _My brother is Lord Potter_. “I- I do. I am Lorelei Sophie Potter…though I prefer Lorie Potter.”

“Heiress Potter,” a new voice called out, the bubble of spears popping as a goblin with a face full of scars, armour decking them head to toe, walked towards her, eyeing her shrewdly. “I am Chief Ragnar. Before the Horde grants you Sanctuary, I will be asking you some questions. If I like your answers, then I won’t cut off your head for unnecessarily claiming Sanctuary here.”

Lorie paled.

“My first question: where did you live and who raised you?”

“I- I lived in Li-” then it was as if her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth. She choked, trying to get the word out, before giving up and trying a different path. “The sub-town of Greater Whinging, in Sur-” it happened again, and Lorie grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. “I live in the sub-town of Greater Whinging, in the county that is South of London County, on the street with a phonetic spelling of ‘private’, at the house beside both numbers two and six. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dur-” She was unable to say any more.

Ragnar looked pleased at her answer – if pleased on goblin faces looked the same as it did on human ones.

“How did you get from there to here?”

Lorie lifted Nimkee slightly. “This is my kneazle. I accidentally stole her from Mrs Figg. Or she stole me – I don’t know. But I appeared in the Leaky Cauldron, and then I walked.”

“Interesting…a pure-bred kneazle. A strange choice in companion,” Ragnar dismissed their own words, before walking around Lorie, poking her at random with their sharp claw, being careful not to touch Nimkee. “Third question: why is there foreign blood around you? And the stench of monster? Did you defeat an enemy? Were there casualties?”

Lorie drew in a tight breath, pulling herself together. “I lived in what the monsters liked to call a Dead Zone. They kidnap me, so they can get me out of it. I always escape. Always. But the one that got me today killed my aunt and uncle. My cousin – the blood is my cousins. I don’t know where he is.” She showed them the red-splattered fabric, the goblin taking it roughly, smelling it. It sneered, before throwing it at a nearby goblin.

“Find her cousin. If he isn’t found before dawn, you will be sacrificed to the gods for his return.” Then, the room cleared, the goblins filing out one by one, until only Ragnar was left. They took off their armour, dropping it in a pile beside them, looking satisfied. “It is good to see Lily Evans’ magic-child. Your magic-mother was a Goblin Friend, and she earned it twice over – so, unless you are a disrespectful louse, you are a Goblin Friend too. Kneel down, and tilt your head to the side.”

Lorie, not wanting her head cut off, knelt and tilted her head. The goblin took out a metal seal of a complicated backwards logo – the same one at the very end of the aisle, covering the entirety of the large wall above the highest podium – and pressed it against her neck.

“What-” she started, only for it to transform into a yell as the metal suddenly burned white hot. She tried to pull away, but the goblin followed her easily, keeping the seal in place for a few more seconds, before removing it. The pain was so intense that Lorie nearly didn’t spot the quite literally white-hot metal cool instantly in the goblin’s hand, before they tucked it into their pocket, and Lorie passed out.

* * *

Lorie awoke due to being licked in the face. Not being used to this, Lorie took a moment to realise she was actually awake, before shrieking and whacking at the weight on her chest, sitting up. Nimkee skittered off, onto the ground, hissing.

“Oh! Oh, Nim, I’m so sorry!” Lorie got off the bed, pushing covers away, only to trip up as her foot caught on a stone ridge. Crashing to the floor, Lorie let out a pained noise as her knees hit concrete – Zoe would _kill_ her if they bled – before looking up and around.

She seemed to be in some kind of cave that was a cross between a traditional stone-everything, a movie potions lab, and a make-shift hospital. Her bed was stone, but had a clean mattress with the kind of starched sheets and pillows that reminded Lorie of a hospital, and a nearby metal torch – like, a metal pole with _fire_ in the top – had what looked like a vaguely accurate assessment of all her previous injuries from over the years all neatly drawn onto a diagram, along with numbers that changed, going up and down. The movie potions lab part came from the circular stone table in the middle of the admittedly quite-large room, covered in dried ingredients and jars and actual cauldrons and cutting boards and a set of knives that looked _nothing_ like kitchen knives.

“Oh, you’re awake, great.” Lorie’s head twisted sideways, to where a robed (?) goblin came walking in through a cloth-covered archway. “How long have you been up? And is that blood I smell? Brilliant, you’ve already injured yourself. Back on the bed, wix.” Befuddled, Lorie got back on the bed, Nimkee coming to join her as the goblin bustled about, grumbling under its breath.

Then Lorie made a slight discovery – she was in a cloth hospital gown. With no underwear. Eyes wide, Lorie got more fully onto the bed, pulling the covers over her legs, all the way up to her waist, trying not to be too panicked by the revelation.

The goblin glanced over, rolling its eyes, “You humans and _modesty_. You think we care about human anatomy? It’s the same in every species. You have a hole that gets stuffed with-”

“Glassbord!” Another goblin interrupted sharply, storming into the cave. “I don’t _believe_ you! You said that you’d assigned someone to her! You aren’t _allowed_ patients!”

“And why’s that?” The first goblin – Glassbord – muttered darkly.

The second goblin rolled their eyes sarcastically, “I do not know. Maybe it is because your bedside manner is _atrocious_ when it comes to anyone, let alone human guests? Get out. _Now_.” Glassbord gave the goblin a nasty look before leaving, the second goblin turning to Lorie after they did.

“Apologies for him. He is been banned from having patients for another two hundred years – it is distressing for him, seeing as he is Primary Healer for the Capitol and has been for over a thousand years. He is supposed to assign his direct subordinates to VIP’s.” The goblin stomped over, resting a fist over their heart. “I am Silverblood, Denary Healer of the Goblin Capitol. I have self-assigned myself to you, as you may have witnessed. You are Heiress Potter.”

“…hello. Where are my clothes?”

“Your belongings were secured this morning by an associate of Lord Potter’s and were taken to Greenhaven Estate, where Lord Potter has resided since his seventh year of life. As you are a Sanctuary Seeker, clothing and other effects have been created in your honour, to the specifications sent out by Primary Healer Glassbord.”

“Oh,” Lorie thought of all her belongings – Dudley’s belongings. She itched to have them, and it was upsetting to find she had no way to access them. “When will…Lord Potter, see me?” _He must have woken up. ‘Since his seventh year of life’…David’s been out of his coma for eight years._ It hurt more than she thought it would.

“I am not authorised to speak of such matters,” Silverblood stated, before poking the parchment on the torch. “Your magic has accepted the Goblin Sigil, and your body has settled into it in much a similar way that Lily Evans did. You are a demigod, Roman, if this chart was cast correctly…which it was not.” Silverblood scowled, before slashing the parchment, causing the paper to shrivel into flames and turn to ash. “Glassbord forgets that consent is just as much needed as the results.”

Lorie stiffened, “What did he do?”

“Nothing I don’t wish to perform, though I would prefer to have permission,” Silverblood stated simply, before holding a hand to her forehead. Lorie stayed absolutely still, not sure what was happening. “Heiress, are you properly informed?”

Lorie shook her head mutely.

Silverblood took away their hand, snapping their fingers. A chair appeared behind them, and they sat down.

“I am of the Goblin Horde. I live in the Goblin Capitol, Gringotts. I am the Denary Healer of Gringotts. I am named Silverblood. You may call me either Denary Healer, or simply Healer. Unless invited, you may not use my name, in opposition to the other goblins you have yet to meet. If they wish to be called by their rank, you will respect this, as your respect for names is as vital as your respect for a person. Do you understand?”

The young witch nodded, after a moment, “Yes, Denary Healer.”

Silverblood made a decisive movement with their hand that was rather strange. “This is the goblin hand-signal for ‘come here’. If you see this after your name is called, Heiress, you must go to the one calling. It is rude not to. To greet a goblin and to say farewell to a goblin, in formal settings, you say things such as ‘may your vaults never run dry’, or ‘may your enemies fall swiftly at your hand’.”

“Both as a hello and goodbye?” Lorie questioned slowly.

“Yes,” Silverblood held out an open palm. “As Denary Healer of Gringotts, I request your permission to be your personal healer, when you roam these caverns. If you accept my offer, please say so. If you do not, push my hand away.”

Lorie pursed her lips, before nodding slowly. _Rule Two: always give everything at least two…chances. Silverblood seems better than the other one, at least._ “I accept your offer.”

Silverblood pulled away their hand, nodding before standing. “Stay silent, and still as you can be without causing yourself undue mental suffering because of your warriors blood.”

“Okay,” Lorie bit her lip, still nervous. Silverblood rested a hand against her forehead. “Will it hurt?”

“Will what hurt?”

“Whatever you’re doing.”

Silverblood let out a short laugh – it was more of a screech, but it was still a laugh. “Oh, you ignorant child – if I do something, you won’t be awake to feel _anything_. I’m knocking you out.” _What? Shit, no-_

And then everything went dark.

She had to _do_ something about that.

* * *

Demeter had a fondness for human farmers. Obviously. They took care of their crops, and _usually_ knew what they were doing, unlike the rest of their kind. She liked gardeners even more, though the distinct lack of true harvest let farmers find a place in her list of attractive human professions alongside them.

One such farmer that had attracted her attention was an Irish man by the name of Joseph. For Demeter, it was simple. He had the kind of traits she liked, enough money to support someone, and as a bonus, a spinster-sister who once admitted to wanting a child of her own, yet didn’t have the right preference to get around to having one. Their boarder – and the spinster-sister’s secret lover – was a lovely lady, too, and had two of her own children, neither of them demigods. And it wasn’t like there were any monsters who preferred to roam Ireland left in the green country that Demeter could detect, at least, so giving Joseph a demigod son was a good bet. He’d be safe, cared for – and if his father ran off, then there were two lovely mother’s waiting to take care of him.

So, Demeter had a child with him, and dropped the baby boy off. Unfortunately, when Demeter went to meet him little over fourteen years later to tell him to go to Camp Half-Blood – a little late, she knew, but to be honest she was a bit busy looking after his American siblings, who were easily scented and hunted by monster – he was nowhere to be found.

It was safe to say, Demeter was worried.

Luckily, he came back in the winter holidays. When he _did_ , Demeter appeared in front of his family and nearly got killed for it, as five sticks were whipped out from nowhere, four sending debilitating curses at her. Only her Godly reflexes saved her from a…well, let’s just say that _this_ family? It dealt with a lot of prejudice, and they were used to defending themselves from very angry _mobs_.

So after saving herself from a potentially very grisly set of injuries, Demeter managed to explain – somehow, she doesn’t know, _a lot was happening_ – that she was her son’s mother, and that she was a Goddess, and that she had come to invite her son to Camp Half-Blood in America for the summer so he could learn to defend himself against monsters, slipping in the fact that he would get to learn how to use swords.

Boys liked swords, right?

“Why would I want to learn how to use a sword when I can use magic?” Her son questioned, accent thick. Demeter’s hopes dropped slightly, her worry increasing – but her curiosity _spiking_.

“How do you know how to wield magic?” Demeter asked in return. His father, Joseph, huffed, before looking to his sister.

“You get to explain everything to me. I’m going for a pint.” Joseph left without so much as another word, Demeter blinking in surprise.

“He’s changed,” she said starkly. Joseph’s sister rolled her eyes.

“Well, getting a kid dropped on you that you didn’t want or need at the time does that to you – no offense, Seamus,” the woman glanced to the boy.

Seamus Finnegan shook his head.

“No problem, mammy – and put your wand away.” He sat down at the table, where they’d been eating lunch before Demeter appeared. “Liam, Sorley, mam, put your wands away too. I want to hear what she has to say.” He looked to Demeter. “Here, sit in dad’s seat,” he motioned to the one beside him, moving Joseph’s plate towards the middle of the table. Demeter sat. “So, explain yourself. Why’d you leave me here? It wasn’t horrible, or anything – I wouldn’t give this up for nothing – but still, you’re my bio mam. And apparently a Goddess. Which one?”

Demeter gave a tight smile. “I am Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, Sacred Law, Harvest and the Seasons. The Ancient Laws which preside over all of my pantheon state that we are to have minimal contact with our demigod children, unless we are in battle, so I could not raise you. You say your life was not _horrible_ – it is comforting to hear.” Demeter wanted to ask about his magic, but instead looked to his family. “Might I know who each of you are?”

The woman who had spoken before puffed up, “I’m Mary Finnegan – Joseph’s sister. This here is my wife, Shannon, and our kids, Liam and Sorley – and they _are_ our kids. Shannon and I went to school together, magic school, and in the Wixen World you can have a kid between two ladies, and two men, and anything in between, so they’re mine, you hear? And Seamus, too.”

Demeter did hear.

“Did you say _wixen?_ ” Demeter said, shocked. “But all the wix are dead!”

Seamus snorted, poking her with his wand, “Yeah, nah. I got my letter like everyone else here but you, and I’m going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m a fourth year.”

Demeter stood abruptly. “I have to go. This- this is momentous. So many children…we didn’t stay here long, because they kept disappearing. But it’s like the days of old – wix, and demigods-that-were-wix. My apologies, my most sincere apologies – but I must inform the rest of the Olympians of this discovery, immediately.” She reached over to Seamus, pressing a kiss to his forehead, causing him to glow a light gold briefly. “My Blessing. You most likely have some form of dangerous trouble when it comes to an aspect of magic. It is because it clashes with your nature as a demigod. This will settle it. I will have Chiron send you instruction leaflets on demigod safety.”

“Wait, don’t go yet-” Seamus’ eyes went wide, but Demeter was already rushing out of the door, disappearing to Olympus once she was out of their sight. Seamus looked to his adoptive mothers. “She left.”

Liam snorted, “Of course she did. Didn’t you hear her? They thought the wix extinct. That’s like…” his eyes went wide. “That’s like discovering the Gods exist.”

Silence reigned.


End file.
